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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29308842">To Dream: Why did you leave me your mess to fix?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake_Shiron/pseuds/Blake_Shiron'>Blake_Shiron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP FanFiction [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Amnesiac Dream, Amnesiac Ghost, Angst, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream and Toby Smith | Tubbo are Siblings, Cottagecore, Exile, Ghost Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Sarcastic Dream, Suicide, What-If</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:01:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29308842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake_Shiron/pseuds/Blake_Shiron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up to a corpse wasn't the welcome the Ghost expected nor wanted. In the middle of nowhere with no one to answer his questions, nonetheless.<br/>Luckily, he found a communicator, a compass and coordinates with the location marked home, so he should have his answers soon right?<br/>Well, he certainly found out about the reason for why he woke up in the middle of nowhere.</p><p>OR: Dream dies and comes back without any memories or instincts to guide him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF) &amp; Everyone, No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP FanFiction [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Excistence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652454">Fare Well Without Me</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/vani_tas_talk/pseuds/vani_tas_talk">vani_tas_talk</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Similar to the FanFictio that inspired the setting for this one:<br/>In this World, someone only permanently dies under certain circumstances, like losing the will to live.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Birth of something old yet new.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To be honest, it felt surreal at first. Standing in a field of gold and warmth, feeling the wind cares his body and the vast blue of the sky expand infinitely, a lone cottage looming in the corner of his sight.<br/>At first, he just was until the warmth turned cold until the day became night. The groaning and rattling of the hostile mobs pulling him from his trance and the survivor in him, telling him to find shelter and find it <em>fast</em>. He stumbled and tripped over himself, rushing to safety.</p><p>The Cottage.</p><p>Hastily, he entered the building, only after shutting the door did a relieved sigh leave his mouth. Giving himself a moment to collect himself, he hesitantly turned his back to the door and observe his surroundings.<br/>The interior of the cottage was strange. By all means, it had everything one needed to survive and some more, but it didn’t feel… <strong>lived</strong> in. As if a stranger lived here, a guest only there for a short while, yet the building didn’t seem new nor abandoned. If he had to guess, it seemed like the owner only loved here simply because they <strong>had</strong> to, not <strong>want</strong> to.</p><p>Hoping that the homeowner wouldn’t mind his presence, he called out for anyone present but got no reply. So, he was alone. Probably. If this house was really abandoned, it must’ve happened not too long ago. If no one lives here anymore…, was his thought, nobody will mind him using the resources, right?<br/>With that in mind, he dared to explore the house. Everything seemed normal and the kitchen was surprisingly stocked. Won’t have to worry about food then.</p><p>Going deeper, he found the doors to the bathroom, with first aid supplies thankfully, and a mysterious locked room. After trying to peer the door open, he decided to leave the door be for now and went back to the main part of the small house.<br/>Sitting down at the table, the events of the day all came back to mind and with it, a lot of questions. After some pondering and thinking, he came up with worryingly few answers.</p><p><em>Where am I?</em> No clue. <em>Why am I here?</em> No idea. <em>Who am I?</em> No answer.<br/>Questions came rushing and the lack of answers overwhelmed him, blindsiding him.<br/>Breath, calm down, <strong>think</strong>.</p><p>Where he was can be easily found out, all he needed to do was find someone to ask or a map if he was lucky.<br/>Why he was here can only be speculated, which wasn’t the time for now.<br/>Who was he, now that’s the question. He should know, it was like the easiest things to know and yet he doesn’t.<br/>And now that he was aware of his lack of memories, it was plainly obvious that he knew next to nothing, except basic knowledge and instincts, like how that the night was dangerous and that he shouldn’t be outside unprepared.<br/>Simply put, it was strange and something he had to find out first. It might also explain how unfamiliar he felt in his own body, how unused and clumsy it was. Like the basic knowledge, he knew the movements he was supposed to do yet his body didn’t like it never had done so before.</p><p>Thinking about it, it all came down to instincts: his knowledge was everything someone naturally knew and did, so it couldn’t be really be called as such and was simply basic instinct. It was instinct that told him of the danger, not knowledge; it was instinct that told him that the cottage was inhabited not too long ago, not experience; and it was instincts that told him that he would find some answers behind the locked door.</p><p>Newly found determination fuelled his next actions of going up to the door and kicking it down, fed up with the questions, <em>questions, <strong>questions</strong></em>, and no answers. Though, with how his body was so unfamiliar, he promptly fell on the floor, nearly faceplanting but luckily catching himself before that.  Wincing at the stingy feeling in his hands, he slowly and unsteadily stood up and looked up into the room.<br/>It was dark, unlike the rest of the home where torches were lit, the light fell in from behind him making something visible.</p><p>Chest lining the walls; a desk to the right of him with something laid purposely on it; a bed in the corner, made; a corpse on the bed.</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The rotting smell and realization hit him all at once. Stumbling back, he covered his nose and mouth. Shock and horror morphing his expression into one of terror and the urge to throw up hit him like a punch to the gut. <em>How did I not notice?! </em>He rushed to the sink of the bathroom for maybe cold water will help clear his head.<br/>The moment his water touched the water though, a strange and uncomfortable feeling spread rapidly, causing him to immediately pull back. Looking down at his hand in confusion, he saw to his horror that it was <em>melting</em>. Why was he <strong>melting</strong>?!!</p><p>At a loss, he looked at himself in the mirror and was just about ready to pass out and let the sweet release of the death take him.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Burial</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After shocking revelations, it is time to move on.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry if it gets insensitive at times. Our Ghost can get pretty bitter and sarcastic, to the point of being mean. I don't want to offend anyone and hope you can still enjoy it for what it is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong><span class="u">Chapter 2<br/>
</span></strong>Okay, so after calming down and getting his thoughts straight, he made a mental list of what happened in the last hours and his revelations:</p>
<ol>
<li>He woke up without any memories on the property of the previous owner.</li>
<li>Said owner laid dead in the bed.</li>
<li>He melts when in contact with water. Possibly relates to point 4.</li>
<li>He is- maybe, possibly- a ghost from the looks of it.</li>
</ol><p>Running his hands over his face, the creepy mask is long taken off, he just felt utterly exhausted. Glancing at the smiley mask, he shuttered. How did he not notice it before? Maybe he wore it a lot when he was alive, thus logically making him used to its presence. Thou that’s not changing the fact that it was unnerving him, but he has to begrudgingly admitted that it did make him feel safer wearing it. Like it would shield him from the world.<br/>
Him being a ghost would explain a lot too. Lack of memories, not being able to control his own body…</p><p>But damn it, he wants answers and nobody to tell him, except a dead one. He could feel the dread crawling up his throat and subsequentially swallowed. <em>Get a hold of yourself</em>, he told himself, <em>we still have to get some answers and the only possibility of getting them is in that room</em>.<br/>
Taking on big breath, he stood up from the table and with big steps, approached the still-open door. Doing his best to ignore the rotting smell, he used a lighter from the kitchen to light the Torches, now fully illuminating the room.</p><p>Looking around and pointedly ignoring the bed, he didn’t see anything new, already having seen the most of it before. A bed, some chests, and a desk. Going over to the desk, he saw a lone bracelet and picking it up, on closer inspection, saw that where the time would be, was a black screen. At a loss, he, on instinct, put it on his wrist and fastened it, surprising himself in the process. He didn’t know the use of the watch, but his instinct told him that it was important, useful to him in the future. His instincts being the only guide he had in this unfamiliar world, he listened naturally.<br/>
Going through the drawers of the desk didn’t bring much success though, so moving on to the chests.</p><p>There were only two chests, really: one looked well used and clean, the other dirty and shoved into the corner. <em>Looks like someone wanted to forget something.</em><br/>
Opening the first one, he found mostly clothes and tools, nothing standing out and of no use to him. Disappointed, he turned to the chest in the corner, where he had more success.<br/>
In the chest were numerous books stacked and other knickknacks, but what stood out to him were a compass and a little booklet. Taking both into his hands, he pondered their usefulness.</p><p>The compass was obvious with its use: to point into a certain direction. He knew though that compasses don’t always only point to the north; they can point towards locations or even people. Now the question was, which is it? He’d have to find out later and pocketed it.<br/>
Turning to the booklet, he carefully inspected it. His instincts again told him that it was important like it did with the bracelet, but what use it had was yet to be seen. Opening it didn’t tell him much at first; there was some word written in what he could only guess gibberish or a language he didn’t understand. He’d guess the former, by how sporadic the writing was. The only useful information he got was number in the back with the word “<strong><span class="u">Home</span></strong>” written above it.<br/>
Yes, finally <em>something</em>! Excitement coursed through him, making him do a little dance. These were coordinates leading to somewhere that wasn’t this hellhole.</p><p>He was about to rush out of the room when he stopped at the doorway, slumped his shoulders and sighed. He can’t leave the poor guy laying there. Laying there alone to rot was cruel. Pulling himself together, he forced himself to turn back and go to the bed he avoided so desperately before.<br/>
Step by step, he neared the body on the bed. Step by step, he began to see more of the body.<br/>
It was a tall and lean man, who he guessed to have been in his early twenties; blond hair, slightly toned skin, riddled in scars and a face with freckles. He wore simple clothes; a white shirt and black pants, holding a white mask with a smiley face on it. A familiar one.<br/>
Looking at the man's face, he saw a familiar one.<br/>
Familiar hair. Familiar scars. Familiar freckles. Familiar… familiar…</p><p>Him. It was him. Laying there. Dead. How- <em>How?</em></p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>In this world, people respawn, coming back from impossible situations. They fall, get sick, kill… innumerable ways to die and most, if not all, come back from those. Permanent Death is tricky, yet also logical.<br/>
It is permanent if you have certain sicknesses. If you glitch beyond the possibility of respawning. If you are content with your life and move on to the next phase of your life. If you are tired of your life and want to it to end.<br/>
How or when one dies is always a surprise as these are the most common yet not all possibilities.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Ah. So that’s how it is.<br/>
Coming back to the present, he brushed off the moment he was lost in thought and the rush of information. He died. His alive counterpart died and left-back a ghost with no memories. But what is the cause of it?<br/>
Looking at the way he laid, it was with a purpose, like he knew that he was going to die. Either he was content with his life or was tired of it.</p><p>He was leaning towards the ladder.</p><p>
  <em>He ended his life and couldn’t do without leaving him behind. </em>
</p><p>His thought startling him, he found it weird how nonchalant he was about it. He just found his own body and here he was, getting mad at himself? What is wrong with him.<br/>
Yet looking at the body, he can’t help but get annoyed at his past-alive counterpart. He didn’t see himself in that person, nor can he find it in himself to feel sad or shocked.<br/>
Like it was a fact of life: his alive counterpart was dead and left him behind. He somehow can’t hold back the anger at that. He wanted to leave and let the body rot in that damned bed in this damned cottage.<br/>
But he can’t.<br/>
These feelings are irrational, he knew that and wherever they came and reason for them being there, that didn’t change the fact that no one deserved to be left behind like this.</p><p>Pushing back the negative feelings, he now found that he didn’t care much for the smell nor was he disturbed by the dead body. Somehow knowing who it was changed something in him, which he didn’t want to think about.<br/>
Thank the gods he did it when he did. From smell and listening to his instincts, he could guess that the body was dead for minimum a day, as the body smelled bad but didn’t yet start bloating. Another day later and he might have to clean up more than just the body.<br/>
Dragging the body outside and seeing that the sun was already rising, he went out and found a nice place to the side of the cottage for a grave.</p><p>By the time he was done digging the grave and burying the body, the sun was high in the sky, burning down on him. Standing before the cross he haphazardly made, he looked coldly down at it.<br/>
“You know,” he leaned on the shovel. “I don’t know why I hate you, but I do. Maybe it’s for leaving me behind with nothing but questions in the middle of nowhere. For not thinking that this might happen. What brought you out here? Why did you leave so early? Was it the isolation? Was it the pain? Does my hate have to something with your last moments? Did you loath yourself so much? I have so many questions, but I don’t suppose you will be the one to answer them, will you?”</p><p>He was silent, as if he waited long enough, <em>he</em> would answer. Seconds pass. He sighed.<br/>
“What did I expect, the dead can’t talk,” chuckling, he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’ll be going then. Maybe the coordinates you left behind will help me.” Turning around, he began his journey, leaving behind who was and now wasn’t.<br/>
Looking for the last time over his shoulder, he half-smiled. “Goodbye, loser.”</p><p>With the last wave, disappearing into the sea of gold and the beyond.</p>
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